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. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. She wanted to be alone.
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