He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out.
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