’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. "Attend to me, Mrs. “You say that he is alive. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action.
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