She caught her finger in the lock and had to ask him to help pry it out. She turned her head away sharply. Gerald tried it. Perhaps she had found this new thing in life, the thing wonderful. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. The necessity of defending herself and assuming a confident and secure tone did much to dispell the sense of being exposed and indefensible in a huge dingy world that abounded in sinister possibilities.
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