"The end is the most beautiful in English literature. The woman I wanted was another man's wife. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. She laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. And then suddenly—a relief. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. . Anyways, we gets friendly and chats each day, and yesterday I mentions about that Mr Charvill, and the maid ups and says that Frenchie and his missus is going out of town to visit him. ’ There was a kind of aching hunger in Gerald’s gaze.
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