He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. As Mrs. ’ You mean you hope you do, thought Gerald cynically. She looked around her. I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl.
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