“I was sick of the make-believe. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. So he resolved to try another tack. Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one.
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