"He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. She thought of the smiles she would gather when she brought forth his first grandson. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. “And you?” “Same thing.
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