All her life Martha had been there. ‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’ Gerald hesitated. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. ‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit.
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