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Chapter 17

           Andashewasgrateful,andashelikedher,andashewasbeginningtoenjoyhimself,sonow,Mrs.Ramsaythought,shecouldreturntothatdreamland,thatunrealbutfascinatingplace,theMannings’drawing-roomatMarlowtwentyyearsago;whereonemovedaboutwithouthasteoranxiety,fortherewasnofuturetoworryabout.Sheknewwhathadhappenedtothem,whattoher.Itwaslikereadingagoodbookagain,forsheknewtheendofthatstory,sinceithadhappenedtwentyyearsago,andlife,whichshotdownevenfromthisdining-roomtableincascades,heavenknowswhere,wassealedupthere,andlay,likealake,placidlybetweenitsbanks.Hesaidtheyhadbuiltabilliardroomwasitpossible?WouldWilliamgoontalkingabouttheMannings?Shewantedhimto.But,noforsomereasonhewasnolongerinthemood.Shetried.Hedidnotrespond.Shecouldnotforcehim.Shewasdisappointed.

           "Thechildrenaredisgraceful,"shesaid,sighing.Hesaidsomethingaboutpunctualitybeingoneoftheminorvirtueswhichwedonotacquireuntillaterinlife.

           "Ifatall,"saidMrs.Ramsaymerelytofillupspace,thinkingwhatanoldmaidWilliamwasbecoming.Consciousofhistreachery,consciousofherwishtotalkaboutsomethingmoreintimate,yetoutofmoodforitatpresent,hefeltcomeoverhimthedisagreeablenessoflife,sittingthere,waiting.Perhapstheothersweresayingsomethinginteresting?Whatweretheysaying?

           Thatthefishingseasonwasbad;thatthemenwereemigrating.Theyweretalkingaboutwagesandunemployment.

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