‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. “I don’t see there’s any getting away from the fact that you and I love each other,” he said, slowly. ” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. She observed the tides, amazed by how high the water could rise, almost touching the tops of the cliffs. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. The service began. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin.
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