She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. It is safe. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. Now, however, as Gerald watched them, their heads were together and they were murmuring in French. 104 < 14 > THE UNTIMELY DEMISE OF JOSEPH R.
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