It’s one of our conventional superstitions. A man came out, and walking recklessly, almost cannoned into Ennison. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. The business of serving gave Gerald a few moment’s grace, for he was dubious about the effect on an elderly female, not in the best of health, of raking up old memories. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter.
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