’ With difficulty, Gerald bit back a laugh. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. ‘I have no idea. “I wrote it for you. ‘Jacques?’ ‘No. No more scuffling. He declined supper, but took wine. “We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends. I don’t want to influence you unduly—But—They’re artistic people, Vee. Love stories! It was of negligible importance that these books were bound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. I do—with all my heart. You're alone, too, child.
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