So I packed up and came to London next day. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. You cannot draw. ’ Hilary’s brows shot up. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. Yet you make our Bohemianism seem like a vulgar thing. Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle.
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