It was impossible. Then he went on: “—and, indeed, to most of the established things in life is, frankly, unsatisfactory. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility.
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