One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. ‘Where is Gérard?’ ‘Out of town,’ Hilary said briefly. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. I must say what I have to say!” “But not now—not here. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. Charity for the ragtag and the bobtail of the Seven Seas, and none for his own flesh and blood.
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