Side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. ‘We may have to,’ Gerald answered thoughtfully, staring at the window to one side. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness.
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