It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. ” Diane’s voice resonated up the stairs. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. Would you stand by me—and her?” “My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed.
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