'Mrs. ” He stood looking at the preparations before them with an unusual preoccupation of manner, then roused himself to take her jacket, a little awkwardly, and hand it to the waiter who hung it in the corner of the room. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. She must weigh her situation. They would be partners only in loneliness.
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