“These months with you are different, like nothing that’s ever happened before. It’s been like a dream, stolen out of time. And I’ll never cease to be endlessly grateful to you for giving me something that no person can ever take away. A good time. Not a good time, but a good time. But you can’t dream forever. You have to wake up. Soon, I shall start getting restless and probably irritable. And you will wonder what is wrong with me and so shall I. And I shall make a small private analysis of the problem and discover that it’s time I went back to London, picked up the threads, and got on with
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