It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. She paused. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. Nobody could possibly find him now. Certain simple purposes emerged from the disingenuous muddle of her feelings and desires. She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. "What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford.
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