He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. ’ ‘Gérard,’ she said, giving the French version with a soft “g” and not quite managing the “l”. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail.
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