Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. "So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. Kneebone in a conciliatory tone.
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