Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. But I mean to have them. "To-morrow I will take you to him. 1. Perhaps my wife has already prepared you for what I wish to say. ‘But that will do for a start. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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