Gerald would not marry her even with a dowry. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. I haven't much money; I don't know how much it is going to cost me to reach Hartford; so I fixed over a couple of my mother's dresses. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. “Eight, Cavendish Square.
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