It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. Evidently her foresight has saved me a funeral. On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until he came back, what was there for her to do? Eh bien, it made no sense to do anything. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. “Yes,” she answered, looking away.
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