She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. She has even found them accommodation in the house where she is putting up herself. ‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. ’ ‘To be sure I do,’ said Gerald swiftly.
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