He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. In doing so, he had to clamber up the immense heap of bricks and rubbish which now littered the floor, amounting almost to a car-load, and reaching up nearly to the top of the chimney-piece. I don’t care WHAT happens. . But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. " Quilt, however, seemed unwilling to speak. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning.
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