Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. She shot a sudden glance at him. ‘It is not possible. It'll be your turn to save mine next. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. On your own. After all, she was a consummate actress. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside. She has no proof—yet.
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