But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. ” She said. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form.
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