‘Why did you kiss me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Gerald admitted. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. Finally Lucy replied. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. The solemn strokes were immediately answered by a multitude of chimes, sounding across the Thames, amongst which the deep note of Saint Paul's was plainly distinguishable.
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