But seriously ——” “Well seriously?” “Isn’t it your own fault a little? Why do you not tell me your address, and allow me to call upon you. “It’s his birthday. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. She looked at her flattened belly. “I have brought you very nearly to my door. ” She nodded. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt.
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