For a space he rode the whirligig. "Don't think to deceive me by your false pretences. I ——” He stopped short. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. Hope reared. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. ” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. He seated himself before it. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. Gerald closed the door and released Melusine, and then went to open the shutters on a window that faced the side of the house.
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