"The night before last, Mr. . Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed. ’ It’s a duplicate of the French one. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. "You must have travelled a good deal to know so much about men. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire.
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