The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. I spent many happy days there. The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. “Lucy. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. We were to live in some wretched London suburb. She walked with an easy quickness down the Avenue and through the proletarian portion of Morningside Park, and crossing these fields came into a pretty overhung lane that led toward Caddington and the Downs.
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