Reluctantly she found him beguiling after he had eaten. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. The doors of several of the wards were thrown open for these parties, and as Jack passed, he could not help glancing at the wretched inmates. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. But it was hopelessly hard to put. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. But luncheon and dinners you will sit at my table.
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