’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. “Maternity,” she said, “has been our undoing. \" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. ” “You do not deny that you are my wife,” he asked hoarsely. He was going to tell me something— and he shut up. One is always familiar with the business of one’s neighbours. . Gerald? But could he be here so quickly? She hastily dabbed at her eyes, thankful for the darkness that she saw had come on outside unnoticed, dimming the room. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. And what on earth do you want to darken your eyebrows and use so much make-up for at your age? You’re exactly twenty-three, and you’re got up as much as a woman of forty-five.
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