Selfishness. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. You don't want me to spoil the story, do you?" "No. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. She told you —the truth. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes.
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