I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand. ‘Sir?’ Hilary threw a brief glance at Trodger, and quickly returned his intent gaze to the Frenchman, who had halted once more, and stood as if thinking deeply. 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. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. “Cheveney!” she repeated. \"I saw you walking down the street with someone, Lucy. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away.
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