She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. Jesus! They just wouldn’t let up about you after you played the violin for them. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat. No further responsibility whatever. That's the way she strikes me. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her.
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