But she was not sure just how to reach it. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly.
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