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"Yes, your son, Madam. ” “And made you give up a political meeting,” she reminded him. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Just now the waterchestnuts…. I tell you that because it puts us on a footing.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 09-09-2024 15:59:13
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