CHAPTER XXX. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. CHAPTER XXVIII. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. You can go for a walk with Lucy. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. "We're forgetting," he said.
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