’ Her conversation was wonderful, Gerald decided. “Yes. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. " Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. Red apples and snow! How often had these two things entered his thoughts since his wanderings began? Red apples and snow!—and never again to behold them! "I am going out for a little while," she said. But never mind that. “Do you see why you cannot survive in the world without me? The world is full of mundane things, Lucia, but it is also full of terrible things. There is a button loose on that coat under your pillow.
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