“You are not content then with stealing from me my name. Paintings sold off the walls. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. I dare say it will be chattered about for weeks. I could not become an Oracle. She heard their feet and muffled voices. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity.
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