Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. “Then we must try and make London endurable for you,” he remarked cheerfully. But after the first shock came a warm glow of relief. I can now give myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttling in between. . ‘I am done, Gérard.
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