‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. The window was shortly after opened, and a rope ladder, with a lighted horn lantern attached to it, let down. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head.
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