She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. ‘Quite mad, nuns are. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. ’ ‘I am afraid that there is,’ Gerald told her evenly. ” “It’s dreadful for you to be here,” he said, indicating the yellow presence of the first fog of the year without, “but your aunt told me something of what had happened.
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