’ ‘You know, Gerald,’ Lucilla put in thoughtfully, forestalling a withering rejoinder from the captain, ‘there may be something in that. ‘Come, Hilary. Just because I attempt to seek the worst of men to kill, it doesn’t make it right. 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. Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing.
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