And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. “I know that our social order is dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most beautiful in life. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you.
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