He declined supper, but took wine. I hear they are very much affected by the tragedies of their neighbours in France. Gerald swore. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “I haven’t seen the new Patience, dear,” she said. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend.
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