Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. She proffered her neck towards him. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. “I will take my chance. Small, but eminently serviceable. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Do you have a car?” She asked.
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