It began as a joke. Good-bye. Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. ’ ‘Because I like you, of course,’ Gerald said promptly. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. III. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. “Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. “It’s the centre of the intellectuals.
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