At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Anna was singing as she used to sing. I’m sick of this town and I can’t wait to get out. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had not followed. It may be well, therefore, before proceeding farther, to describe it more minutely. I beg that you will consider me your friend. That paper must be signed, or I take my departure. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. ’ His brows rose.
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