She had never been so happy to vomit. Stanley, with an imperious gesture, “to come in here. Out of all this we have struck a sort of harmony. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. I deserve pretty much what I’ve got. “Why?” “I still love you.
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