‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. She was dressed in one of those complicated dresses that are all lace and work and confused patternings of black and purple and cream about the body, and she was in many ways a younger feminine version of the same theme as himself. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. I rather want them. I will tell you what you shall give me, if you like. Like stealing. If ever I could bring myself to ask you any favour, I would ask you to forget even as I have forgotten.
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