Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until he came back, what was there for her to do? Eh bien, it made no sense to do anything. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. And so, here we are, right back from where we started. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. He recoiled from the sting. “Then you—you will?” A long pause. “Any choice as to which of the Halls? You can pick and choose, you know. ‘Flirting, Gerald? A new come-out for you. —'How so?' says I. A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test.
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