That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon.
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