“But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. No doubt they've all been rejected; but he couldn't throw them overboard. ‘Fiddle, Gerald. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash.
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