Gerald pressed against the wall, and signalled Roding to go to the other side of the door. He brought another small loaf, and a can with which he replenished the pitcher, recommending Jack to be careful, as he would get nothing further till morning. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine.
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