‘Not kill me, I mean. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. Her cheeks were aflame. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. I’ve never wanted to get away so much. Her hair was washed for her also. "We may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause.
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