To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. “I shall come back, if at all, a new man. I’ve never had these crying fits before. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. . .
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