Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea. His eyes flashed as he turned towards her. Gerald kicked the panelled wall in frustration. . ’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. I came in by the vestry, and we will go out that way again.
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