It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. Nowhere could he see that reaching, menacing Hand.
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