“I have brought you very nearly to my door. ’ ‘Lord,’ Gerald murmured, awed more by the outspokenness of his hostess than by what she had said. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. Only she hadn’t. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. I am loved. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. Any one very badly moved choked down a few mouthfuls; the symptom of supreme distress was not to be able to touch a bit. “I am only sorry that I did not ask you to go with me.
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