‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. Smith decidedly the plainest of the two. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. We shall be torn in pieces if we are discovered. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding.
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