Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. “No, that’s fine. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. He returned to attend the funeral. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad.
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