’ Gerald raised his brows. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. ‘That’s what comes of disarming yourself. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto.
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