“My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me. ’ Mrs Ibstock’s lips tightened and she looked away a moment. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. These sham ideals and advanced notions. But Gerald kept to a casual note. As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said.
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