That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. Rank ingratitude, I call it. “Not possible. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. ‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. His spirits began to rise. ’ ‘You have seen him? Exactement. Mauled about!” She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand. He dared not go on.
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