He has often told me that if he could play sober, he would go to America and reap a fortune. Surely it was a dream. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. One has to be so careful.
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