’ ‘Gérard,’ she said, giving the French version with a soft “g” and not quite managing the “l”. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. At once. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. . And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor.
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