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“I am a fool,” he said. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. White, my landlady, believes his story. Gerald sighed. "Who are you?" inquired Mrs. Their colorful displays seemed to repel the dreariness of the sky as each group savored its long awaited moment, its weekend arrival in front of the opposite sex. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. They hunted up shady nooks and went to sleep; but promptly at four they would be at the office, ready for barter. He was tender with her as he had not been in years. Here was one that subtly mocked her. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. He's nice. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship.
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