‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears.
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