It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. "If I could work as fast as you, I might afford to be as idle. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse.
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