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They would arrive sometime in June. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. Of course, if at any time—see reason—alter your opinion. To love in such a way, it is excessively selfish. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. “But your hair,” he gasped. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter.

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