‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. “In a sense—yes. In the midst of this light stood a young woman. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. But I shan’t try to stop you.
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