The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. It’s a lake among precipices, and there is a little inn where we can stay, and sit and eat our dinner at a pleasant table that looks upon the lake. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. “Come,” she said. “What is going on between you two?” Lucy asked.
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