"This young fool is come to restore the article—whatever it may be—which Lady Trafford was anxious to conceal, and which his companion purloined. He was—a millionaire. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art. “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. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. She might even forgive him. You certainly have not shown much desire for my society, have you?” “You have been wrapped up in your politics,” she murmured. " CHAPTER XXV. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. "Well, who'd have thought of finding it in this unexpected way!" "Don't be too sure till you see it," said the widow.
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