To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. Lucy's grin faded. That is why you came here, isn’t it?’ ‘Alors, now we know who is the spy, Monsieur Gérard. One always dreamed of this and never believed it. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes.
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