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‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. Mark yourself as a charitable man and you’ll be rewarded here and in Heaven. “Can you spare me a moment?” he asked. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. I don’t. “I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. I needn't tell you to tread carefully. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. Of you, I mean.
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