Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. "Stay, dear Thames!—stay!" cried the little girl. Arrived beneath an aperture in the broken roof, he was preparing to pass through it, when he observed a little heap of tiles upon the floor, which appeared to have been recently dislodged. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. And I get myself dirty.
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