Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. Gerald lost his head. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. He took some Oreos from the bottomless supply that stocked the cookie jar. ‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly. He is not in a state of mind to bear it. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. ‘That fellow of yours is a deal better, by the by. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume.
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