You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. I was a novelty. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands. "Choose, Jack. ’ Gerald frowned in an effort of memory, and then laughed as he recalled one of the lies she had invented for his benefit. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. I said I’d make shirts.
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