Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. In the first place there were not so many suitable advertisements as she had expected. The discussion wandered, and was punctuated with bread and butter. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. So I've grown hard—outside. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead.
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