There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. ‘I am done, Gérard. But after the first shock came a warm glow of relief. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. He stood before her. The truth at once flashed across his mind. "My head fairly turns round. "I shall like to call you that.
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