‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. ’ ‘Charvill, then,’ Gerald concluded, unperturbed. I didn't mean it. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. Acting upon this humane determination, he impelled himself slowly backwards,—for he did not dare to face the blast,—and with incredible labour and fatigue reached the crevice. His hands reached under her skirt.
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