Taking hold of the hilt of his own foil, he drew it forth. He was a philosopher. “Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. ” “You will have to murder people and drink them up in order to live. ’ ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that,’ Gerald uttered in a rueful tone. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea.
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