At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. His eyes were set too close together. “Yes. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. “There is one thing I must concentrate on at the moment,” she told herself, “and that is how to pay my next week’s bill to Mrs. "Sign this," he said, pushing the document towards Sir Rowland. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast.
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