Mrs Sindlesham’s wrinkled cheek had paled, and her eyes were fixed upon Gerald in a look that wrung his heart. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. I know something about men. And not only so, but that it was after all, a more systematic and particular method of examining just the same questions that underlay the discussions of the Fabian Society, the talk of the West Central Arts Club, the chatter of the studios and the deep, the bottomless discussions of the simple-life homes. According to what I’ve heard, you oughtn’t to be here. I’m glad the old sore is assuaged. I know nothing about the girl, save what you have told me.
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