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Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. “Isn’t there a brother to kick him?” “Mere satisfaction,” reflected Ogilvy. “I didn’t understand, Vee. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. “I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me. " Gravely he watched the needle flash to and fro.
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