Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. ‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand.
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