At last he could bear it no longer. Do you know, Ann Veronica, it is all a lie about your birth certificate; a forgery—and fooling at that. Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion.
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