The idea of your being a failure would never have occurred to me. And so she came upon the word Love. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. “It would have been rash and unwise,” she said at the end of a meditation. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes.
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