She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. You understand what I mean. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. Voilà tout. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning. Would to God I had.
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