” “I will tell him,” Lady Lescelles said. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. ’ ‘Will you go back there?’ asked Gerald. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. ” “Say that again, Lucy, so that the rest of them hear it. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. behind the Laundromat. The truth was impossible, indecent.
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