Part 7 That was two days before Christmas Eve. She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. “Oh no, you’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” “No Julian. ” “So you think. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. I don’t see that men need bank it with the women. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds.
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