’ To Gerald’s relief, the entrance of the butler interrupted them, relieving him of the necessity to explain himself. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. He was profoundly stirred. "Mr. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. "I'm sorry, Mr. But be very careful not to let him know. My sister made me over, you know. “You are certain of this. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her.
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