So this was what it was all about. "What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth. 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. A very small settlement, mostly natives. She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion.
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