A town called Foster. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. Activity in the hall intensified. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. He unhooked it from the front clasp. ” She sat quite still looking at him. And guess what? I don’t sleep much, if you haven’t noticed. I have a big breakfast. . ’ He called through the library door. ’ ‘Ah, that explains your surprise. ’ ‘Precisely,’ Gerald repeated.
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