‘Cajolery? This is not your style. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. It wasn’t pretty. She was slowed down by the icy wind that punctuated itself in screams around houses and trees. “Because you used to be my friend, Lucy, and now I don’t get to see you anymore unless I can get into your house. ’ Gerald reached out and took her hand, enclosing it between both his own. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her.
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