"'Tis a cruel thing you've done, lad. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. You go home and live on the G. He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. ’ Her conversation was wonderful, Gerald decided. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head.
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