The knife is at my breast. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. The expression was wholly different. She found pieces of it on the blacktop near the green dumpster, amazingly small pieces considering the fabric’s original heft. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers.
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