It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. You’d think with as much dick as she gets that she’d cheer up. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory lucidity and completeness. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. Then her fingers moved. Part of her even believed that her mother would have wanted her to stop feeling guilty and to be happy. It'll be your own fault if you don't soon get another and a proper young man into the bargain.
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