"Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. “And where are YOU going?” he said. He was detained. The lonely widows of robber barons found him irresistible and he was the guest of many a fine table. “Why did I ever take that loan? An idiot girl in an asylum would have known better than that! “Vulgarity of soul and innocence of mind—the worst of all conceivable combinations. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. I must tell somebody—and you would understand.
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