He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. “So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. Accepting his glass from the butler, Gerald glanced at Mrs Sindlesham and saw a dimple peep out. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right.
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