‘Gerald had to change both shirt and breeches. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. She writhed in ecstasy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, then raised her knees to his shoulders. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. What need had she of Gerald, or anyone? Yet, if he was here, would he not make some foolish game with her and make her laugh? Instead of behaving in this fashion so stupide, and crying, crying, crying. The youth with the hair brushed back and the spectacled Scotchman joined in the fray for and against the women’s vote. It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. Chapter Two ‘Our French friends are beginning to form quite a little coterie,’ remarked Gerald, covertly studying the group gathered in an alcove at the other side of Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom.
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