” Michelle extracted another cigarette from her jacket and handed Lucy the lighter. The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. She shivered, more due to his presence than the changing weather. Wood.
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