At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. “Wasn’t Parliament to reassemble?” He put out his hand and leaned against a tree and crossed his legs. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. She says to be home by one AM. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. She had need of a devoted cavalier and Jack had proved eminently valuable. She fled. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge.
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