He was a man tout à fait capable, this Gerald. He was beginning to think about her inordinately. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. There were no mourners. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. We struggle against it at first, but in the end we have to submit.
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