“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. ’ ‘Ah yes. Something in her tone made him look up. ’ ‘I don’t know,’ confessed Gerald. "But what, may I ask, arouses the thought?" The doctor was in high good humour. She made herself a private declaration of liberty.
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