"Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. ‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’ He sipped his wine and shrugged. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. “It is you alone, Nigel, who have saved me from being an old maid. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image.
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