Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. "Anything else?" "Your waistcoat. “Well, I don’t feel like standing it. To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness.
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