He took Diane out. 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. Slash and cut as much as you please. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. I’ll protect you!” He cried. "But, let that pass. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. Madame Valade was that kind of woman.
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