It’s an instinct. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. It was not a hopeful looking group. ‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. “There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. The campaign’s a success.
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