The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. When next he asked for her, some twelve hours later, he was told that Mademoiselle had left.
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