‘Let go!’ ‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Gerald demanded. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. You won’t settle and I’m going mad. Cathy opened her beauty shop, you know. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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