“I was sick of the make-believe. "No," replied Jonathan, moodily. Wild had escaped. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. “He’s got almost to like it. It would be very hard perhaps to make you understand just how I feel about it. Anywhere! Moonlight and music—pleasing, you know, but quite unnecessary. She went next day to the schools, and her world seemed all made of happiness just worked up roughly into shapes and occasions and duties.
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