The late afternoon, en effet. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. ” She said, searching for her brassiere under his bed. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. Gosse sneered. There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt. He’s out in Phoenix last I heard.
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