It slid off flimsily. Mind you don't stir till supper's over. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. But Gerald wouldn’t hear of it. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. I intend to remain very serious indeed while I’m doing it. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you.
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