She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. ‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. Given time and the right environment, and he would outgrow these defects. So that it seemed to her the whole world had changed —the very light of it had changed. “Because you used to be my friend, Lucy, and now I don’t get to see you anymore unless I can get into your house.
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