Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. Gerald hoped he had covered all options and had resisted the temptation to pay mademoiselle a visit. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. I’m damaged goods. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. When they made love, he seemed to shift into the realm of possessiveness. . Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. “Thank you, ma’am.
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