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. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether. While you live in my house you must follow my ideas. ” “You are going to speak to me of things which happened before we met in London?” she asked quietly. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers.
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