“But how can you?” asked Constance. His face darkened. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition. Something as yet unformulated within her kept her estranged from all these practical aspects of her beliefs.
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