Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. Wild," he added, laughing, "it must be a stronger prison than Willesden cage that can hold me. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. Go to it. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked.
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