’ ‘Why not?’ Gerald asked straightly. ‘There is Bernadette, Marie-Thérèse, Marie-Joséphine, Marie-Claire, Henriette—’ Exasperated, Gerald seized her by the shoulders. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. There was just a minute’s hesitation before they gave her a room. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. She was, she guessed, close to the library. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. He was beautiful despite the odd angle. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. Of course there are, millions of them. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously. ’ Gerald moved to the long sofa, dusted it with elaborate care with one of its cushions, and with a gesture invited her to sit down.
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