He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. ‘Some ineligible that your parents would not tolerate, I suppose. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. They could not go on. I declare I'm almost afraid to go to the door. Why else?’ Gerald stared at her blankly.
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