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Wells, H. G. (Herbert George), 1866-1946

"Tono Bungay"

She told me of her girlhood
after I had known her. "We were poor and pretending and managing. We
hacked about on visits and things. I ought to have married. The chances
I had weren't particularly good chances. I didn't like 'em."
She paused. "Then Carnaby came along."
I remained quite still. She spoke now with downcast eyes, and one finger
just touching the water.
"One gets bored, bored beyond redemption. One does about to these huge
expensive houses I suppose--the scale's immense. One makes one's
self useful to the other women, and agreeable to the men. One has to
dress.... One has food and exercise and leisure, It's the leisure, and
the space, and the blank opportunity it seems a sin not to fill. Carnaby
isn't like the other men. He's bigger.... They go about making love.
Everybody's making love. I did.... And I don't do things by halves."
She stopped.
"You knew?"--she asked, looking up, quite steadily. I nodded.
"Since when?"
"Those last days.... It hasn't seemed to matter really. I was a little
surprised."
She looked at me quietly.


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