‘You would know more of me?’ ‘I would know everything about you,’ Gerald told her, his tone at once provocative and inviting. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows.
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