‘Gerald had to change both shirt and breeches. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. . They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. ‘Eh bien?’ ‘You are perfectly right, Melusine. . You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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