Just an idea of mine. " "Her release would be a mercy," pursued the matron. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Supper was over. ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ Gerald said calmly. "These writer chaps are queer birds. I don't care how lonesome it is. I must practise what I preach.
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