An early bird clarinetist burst through in a long black skirt, swishing like a bell. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. ’ ‘Like your father,’ Gerald put in deliberately. “What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head.
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