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82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. ’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. . She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. “I thought we had discussed that, father. The buboes broke and God took Lucia's mother. ’ ‘Yes, that rather leapt to the eye,’ Gerald said, and the faint smile sent a lick of warmth down inside her.
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