He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon their relationship. . ’ ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly. To be no longer with Martha was strange. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. “Because I hate you!” She spat. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. That is so awful.
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