Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. Lucy marveled at the billiards table and the sauna. Set the boy free. It was clear it must be to-morrow. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. E.
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