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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"The Hidden Places"


"It isn't that." His voice sounded husky, uncertain. "We can't undo
what's done, that's all. I cross no more bridges before I come to
them."
"Don't mistake me, Robin," she said with a self-conscious little
laugh. "I'm no lovesick flapper. Neither am I simply a voluptuous
creature seeking a new sensation. I don't feel as if I couldn't live
without you. But I do feel as if I could come back to you again and it
would be a little like coming home after a long, disappointing
journey. When I see you suffering, I want to comfort you. If she makes
you suffer, I shall be unhappy unless I can make you feel that life
still holds something good. If I could do that, I should perhaps find
life good myself. And it doesn't seem much good to me, any more. I'm
still selfish. I want to be happy. And I can't find happiness
anywhere. I look back to our old life and I envy myself. If the war
marred your face and made you suffer, remember what it has done to me.
Those months and months that dragged into years in London. Oh, I know
I was weak. But I was used to love.


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