"Once there," proceeded Wild, without noticing the interruption, "he's as good as in his grave. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. ” “Of course,” he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, “I could go away even now. ” He leaned towards her. CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. It's a thousand pities to hang so pretty a fellow. I love you more. You can test it out on us this Thanksgiving Sunday. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon.
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