Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. She told the porter to take it to the booking-office, and it was only after a disconcerting moment or so that she found she ought to have directed him to go to the cloak-room. But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed. The biological laboratory, perpetually viewing life as pairing and breeding and selection, and again pairing and breeding, seemed only a translated generalization of that assertion. Her eyelids fluttered with recognition, and she cried out softly. CHAPTER XIII. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. Sheppard. I never see them, they never even call. THIS, this glissade, would be damned scoundrelism. I want to enrich it with hangings and gladden it with verses.
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