’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. "My mother is avenged. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. Then the lady smiled and her radiance, even in the darkness, warmed Gerald unexpectedly. Afterward goes on to Oxford.
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