You want industry—you want steadiness. That was life. You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness. ’ Madame Valade reseated herself, and Gerald set himself to flatter her into relaxation again. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it.
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