Her efforts were vain. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. " "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own.
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