“I am sick of it. Gerald? But could he be here so quickly? She hastily dabbed at her eyes, thankful for the darkness that she saw had come on outside unnoticed, dimming the room. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. "Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. “In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself.
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