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But no; she must step warily. I love you more. You certainly have not shown much desire for my society, have you?” “You have been wrapped up in your politics,” she murmured. If they do, now and then, run away with a knocker, paint a sign, beat the watch, or huff a magistrate, they pay for their pastime, and that's sufficient. I do wish you could come and dine with us some evening. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. . . Then a light seemed to break in upon him. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald.
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