“Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. But she felt his lax figure become rigid. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers.
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