Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. ‘I assure you it suits her as Mary would not. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. You see, I have had to look after myself so long that I have developed a terrible bump of independence. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts. just furtive meetings. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk.
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