She perceived she had never really thought of any one but herself in all her acts and plans. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. It’s the public entrance. Wood; but they never come now. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. Gerald would not marry her even with a dowry. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine.
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