Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. “I knew you would begin to see how it all falls into place together. And her kind of love forgives everything and anything but infidelity. There were some deepseated fears of the rot spreading to England, if the simmering discontent of the peasantry of France were to erupt any further.
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