But this was important. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. *** Gerald vaguely noted that his junior leapt to his feet at sight of his former commander, and that Lucilla sat with her mouth at half-cock, dread in her face. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. If they become bad it is through inclination, not necessity. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. . She looked at him mournfully. Play fair with her.
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