She finished the olive and looked up. ‘That is not your affair. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. . ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. “I should like you to come here,” she said.
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