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Rh "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Are you married, Gerrit?"

"Yes. Go ahead now."

"And have you any kiddies?"

"Yes, I have. . . . Ajo! . . ."

"I expect they're charming kiddies, Gerrit?"

Once again the deep glint in those golden, mocking eyes leapt out at Gerrit. . . and then she had turned, walked away quickly, gone down the Timorstraat, disappeared in the Woods. It was quite dark there.

"Well, what is it?"

"I haven't seen you for twelve years, Gerrit."

"Is that all you have to say to me? . . ."

"No, listen," she said, swiftly, understanding that she must make the most of this precious moment. "Listen. I've been twelve years in Paris, Gerrit; I've had a lot of trouble there, I can tell you. . . . But a lot of fun too. I was all the rage: my photo used to be in the shop-windows between the Tsar and the King of the Belgians and under Otero's. That shows, doesn't it? . . . But a lot of trouble too, Gerrit. Men are beasts, Gerrit: they're not all like you, so kind, so nice. I often used to think of you. . . ."

"Yes, but I don't care a hang about all this. . . ."