” His eyes were burning. Ramage,” she said, “please don’t talk like this. You're a queer lad. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Any financial return was inconsiderable against the promise of this psychological treat. ‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. She was consumed by misery and hate. “I am so very, very sorry. E. You and I.
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