She felt terrible lying to him. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. ’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated.
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