She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip. She felt a semi-sharp object being gently impressed into her back. But no more of that. He moaned. “I am afraid—I really think that one of us ought to go with you,” he said. Surely it was a dream. Gerald, whose French was adequate from his military service abroad, was able to respond suitably to such remarks as the ladies addressed to him, but was less exercised by their fashionable dress than their decidedly careworn appearance. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. She saw his lips yell, “Stop.
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