’ ‘As a matter of fact, it isn’t,’ conceded Gerald. He could not promise that she would ever appear again in that house. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. “Why not?” He asked. “Whenever they try to take hold of life a man intervenes. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed.
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