She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. Shari proceeded to paint, brush, dust, slather, and blot Lucy’s face with makeup. Sheppard. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. “I don’t think she will,” she said. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. Good riddance.
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