Later on I could scarcely have forgiven you. ’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. He made her tell him the core of the difficulty. You sent back my Christmas checks. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. “Look round the table,” she said. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony.
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