Ennison. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. But here she met with a check. . I’m making a mess of my life— unless you come in and take it. Perhaps it was loneliness. The latter had delivered himself from one of his assailants, the attendant, Davies. A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. ‘You do not like it?’ ‘That is hardly the point. Blueskin goes with me. But one of these days everything will click back into place.
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