“I remember hearing something about it. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. But to confess about Gerald— no, a thousand times. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. ‘Taken the girl with him. “We shall try again later.
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