His two wives have been here. "I've waited supper, you perceive. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. He’s terrible!” “Dad!” Lucy smiled at John. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form.
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