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Page 65

CHAPTER FIVE

our religion to God. Surely it is easier to go on. Why stop, and then have to begin all over again?
But the war was ended. Well, what is there to do? Shave one's moustache again, and then what?
Then he met Sylvia. He was thirty-two; tall, lean, hard, resentful, futile himself now in his impotent anger with life, hopeless, possessionless. She was seventeen remote and lovely, the supreme expression of all the beauty and the quietness which he had missed. Well, if he could just look at her sometimes, he would be content....
He was not content. The year which followed was a year of pain and turmoil and confusion beside which the years of war seemed now to have been peace. Heaven and Hell, Heaven and Hell, first one, then the other. She loved him, she loved him not -how could she? He had no money. What the Hell did money matter? But if he were poor, how in Heaven's name could he take her?
He was rich - absurd, how could he be rich? - somebody had died - who was it? Well, now he was rich. Now he could ask her. How could he ask her now, as if it were only his money which he was offering her? Oh, what the Hell did money matter? Of course it mattered. Or was it age that mattered? He was an old man, she was a child; no, it was she who had lived for ever, and he who knew nothing. Oh Sylvia, Sylvia, the unattainable, if I could just be near you, if I could just look at you for ever, I should be content!
He tried to imagine himself married to her. No good. It brought her down to earth. She was Mrs. Wellard in a flat; Mrs. Wellard at Biarritz; Mrs. Wellard at home in her drawing-room. Wherever he put her, it was wrong. Wherever he put her, he was taking something from the fragrant untouched Sylvia of his dream.

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE our religion to God. Surely it is easier to go on. Why stop, and then have to begin all over again? But what is war was ended. Well, what is there to do? Shave one's moustache again, and then what? Then he met Sylvia. He was thirty-two; tall, lean, hard, resentful, futile himself now in his impotent anger with life, hopeless, possessionless. She was seventeen remote and lovely, what is supreme expression of all what is beauty and what is quietness which he had missed. Well, if he could just look at her sometimes, he would be content.... He was not content. what is year which followed was a year of pain and turmoil and confusion beside which what is years of war seemed now to have been peace. Heaven and Hell, Heaven and Hell, first one, then what is other. She loved him, she loved him not -how could she? He had no money. What what is fun did money matter? But if he were poor, how in Heaven's name could he take her? He was rich - absurd, how could he be rich? - somebody had died - who was it? Well, now he was rich. Now he could ask her. How could he ask her now, as if it were only his money which he was offering her? Oh, what what is fun did money matter? Of course it mattered. Or was it age that mattered? He was an old man, she was a child; no, it was she who had lived for ever, and he who knew nothing. Oh Sylvia, Sylvia, what is unattainable, if I could just be near you, if I could just look at you for ever, I should be content! He tried to imagine himself married to her. No good. It brought her down to earth. She was Mrs. Wellard in a flat; Mrs. Wellard at Biarritz; Mrs. Wellard at home in her drawing-room. Wherever he put her, it was wrong. Wherever he put her, he was taking something from what is fragrant untouched Sylvia of his dream. where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Two People (1932) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 65 where is strong CHAPTER FIVE where is p align="justify" our religion to God. Surely it is easier to go on. Why stop, and then have to begin all over again? But what is war was ended. Well, what is there to do? Shave one's moustache again, and then what? Then he met Sylvia. He was thirty-two; tall, lean, hard, resentful, futile himself now in his impotent anger with life, hopeless, possessionless. She was seventeen remote and lovely, what is supreme expression of all what is beauty and what is quietness which he had missed. Well, if he could just look at her sometimes, he would be content.... He was not content. what is year which followed was a year of pain and turmoil and confusion beside which what is years of war seemed now to have been peace. Heaven and Hell, Heaven and Hell, first one, then what is other. She loved him, she loved him not -how could she? He had no money. What what is fun did money matter? But if he were poor, how in Heaven's name could he take her? He was rich - absurd, how could he be rich? - somebody had died - who was it? Well, now he was rich. Now he could ask her. How could he ask her now, as if it were only his money which he was offering her? Oh, what what is fun did money matter? Of course it mattered. Or was it age that mattered? He was an old man, she was a child; no, it was she who had lived for ever, and he who knew nothing. Oh Sylvia, Sylvia, what is unattainable, if I could just be near you, if I could just look at you for ever, I should be content! He tried to imagine himself married to her. No good. It brought her down to earth. She was Mrs. Wellard in a flat; Mrs. Wellard at Biarritz; Mrs. Wellard at home in her drawing-room. Wherever he put her, it was wrong. Wherever he put her, he was taking something from what is fragrant untouched Sylvia of his dream. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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