His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. Earles waiting. This was the first young man who had drawn from her something more than speculative interest. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage.
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