"Oh, Gemini!" she exclaimed. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path. She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd.
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