‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death. A buxom piece, who looked, Gerald decided, as if she would be more at home in an amorous engagement in a hayloft than sitting demurely in a ballroom.
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