‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. He held her eyes. “Is it your maid?” he asked. It’s that father of yours you take after, no question. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. (“No, no.
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