“It will spoil your life. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. “Child!” he cried. Whatever may happen to-morrow I shall be none the better for anticipating its miseries to-day. “Mr. Hogarth," he observed, significantly. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. She felt that she was not alone. Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until he came back, what was there for her to do? Eh bien, it made no sense to do anything.
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