She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. You can pull it over on everybody else, Lucy, but not on me. Then, after Capes had been through her work and had gone on, it came to her that the fabric of this life of hers was doomed to almost immediate collapse; that in a little while these studies would cease, and perhaps she would never set eyes on him again. 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. "Farewell for ever," said Jack, extending his hand to Mrs. She would not forgive me.
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