" Mr. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. ‘It is imbecile that you are. He’s—He lives in a world of possibilities outside your imagination. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. “You’re an idiot and your attitude is repugnant. The room seemed a vacuum. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged.
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