She did not want to go to the doctor's people; however kindly that might be, they would be only curious strangers. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. He turned his back on that temptation. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. ” “She’ll meet somebody one of these days—walking about like that. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she.
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