She could not speak. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. ‘That—that—why do you speak of him?’ ‘Because I feel you ought to know,’ Gerald said calmly, but rising and watching her closely, ‘that all your trouble may be in vain. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. There was a young lad ahead of her. “And where are YOU going?” he said.
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