’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. The Magdalene. As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. She will cry for days and nights together.
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