I should as soon think of trusting a woman. “The Widgetts,” she said. Wood, "and take your son with you. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. This is not honourable. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. But it was of no avail.
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