That was life. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. “You’ve grown out of them. His appetite was perfectly Gargantuan. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. It is customary even where an agreement is drawn.
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