“What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. ‘You cannot be always with me. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. I shall know what to say to him when he comes. No matter how swiftly he pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. Amongst other things, he had just brought down an old laced bavaroy, a species of surtout much worn at the period.
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