She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. When she finally did take her own lover, it was not with a member of the household staff. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. She tore open the envelope and read it. She could not hide her face. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. In a sense it alters nothing.
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