Her head dipped deeply into the current, and she narrowly escaped being swamped. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. He built her the most beautiful castle 242 in the world in the desert, carving fountains where real water ran and gardens in a place where no plant had ever bloomed. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. To shore up a business that never had any foundation, he wanted me to lend him a hundred thousand; and for his sake as well as for mine I had to refuse. . Only I do not care to write about anything else. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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