Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. You did not learn that in a convent. Probably a sick man's whim. ’ ‘Please forgive, milor’, but my wife, and even I myself, have yet very much trouble with English. ‘I can answer that. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. He seemed to possess infinite reserves of patience when she refused him or purposely tried to bait and anger him, but his patience only made him seem more sinister.
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