’ Gerald’s jaw tightened. Here are all our harlequins and columbines of the spoken and written drama. She felt herself shaking again. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. Crossing them, he ascended an eminence, which, from its singular shape, seems to have been the site of a Roman encampment, and which commands a magnificent prospect. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. Plain, wide-mouthed, freckled, and ugly, she was an instantly jealous creature, her saving grace that she took no pains to mask her extreme dislike 47 of petite, pretty girls.
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