Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. Gerald sympathised with his friend’s irritation. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog. Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction. I want to get away. I'm sure he'll do his best to content you. Very soon she would be able to forget it. ‘Parbleu, do you think he will run away? He has a bullet inside him, and it must be taken out.
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