Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready. ‘You were right, miss. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. There’s no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it’s habit and sentiment and material convenience hold families together after adolescence. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Sheppard. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. Such pretty manners, she thought. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said.
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