John looked at his feet bashfully. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. He might miss at this distance. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. ‘That he can say he was married only to Suzanne all the time. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing. ‘Parbleu,’ said Gerald. “To Hell if we don’t change our ways. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. Hey. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine.
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