” He said. ‘I am done, Gérard. ” He said, sucking down some Pepsi. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. “It is a hateful story. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. .
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