If only Gerald would come. To her, marriage would be a buckler against the two evils which pursued her. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. Humph. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. ’ Gerald was staring at her, an arrested expression on his face. Even now he was not at all sure that she was not playing with him. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject. They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness.
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