To-morrow we'll raise our first island. She pushed him gently on the chest. I have been thinking—I will go to my wife again. I did all for the best, I'm sure. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. One little minute with soap and water, voilà tout. That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children. “Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously.
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