He never finished his sentence. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. Her greatest exploit was the howling before the mid-day meal. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself.
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