It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business. Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue. Sheila bellowed, a great wail of a sound from deep in her belly, flinging her tremendous weight towards him. I’m like a creature just wakened up.
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