That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. ‘Don’t concern yourself. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. Montague Hill, and I do not think that under those circumstances I should be long about it.
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