‘You imbecile. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort. Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories.
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