Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. There was a girlfriend who was mentally ill. Somehow. Maternal relations. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say.
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