Next instant, Gerald felt his wrist seized in an iron grip. But I do not know you at all, in truth, and I do not understand why you do this. Wood was once a favourite of yours. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. He grasped Lucilla’s elbow.
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