Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. Maggot. ” The hand lingered too long. ” He meditated. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves.
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