His friendship seemed a thing worth having. ‘Gérard will think that I have gone back to London. ” She dropped back into a crouching attitude and began to weep. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis.
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