‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. “I murdered them, John. Let him be sure. If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. The Oriental waterfronts were rank with the stuff.
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