Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. “When did you start?” She said between puffs. I have pleaded with her—no wonder that I have pleaded with her in vain. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings.
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