His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. Yes—as he would have liked. Yes, I think we have thoroughly thrashed that one out. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. Better they should find the so-called Valade. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. I suppose we’re all human beings really, but what price the sacred Institution of the Family! Us as a bundle! Eh?. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Lucy thought he was the most handsome man in the entire world. Men ought not to idealize any woman.
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