It was a mad half-hour. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. He was a man tout à fait capable, this Gerald. But he's witty and amusing, and when reasonably drunk he can play the piano like a Paderewski. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. I want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you. Suppose her father turned her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go. “Yes.
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