Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. “Why?” “I still love you. He had recently made Mr. " "Irons—heavy irons—night and day. Then they rode off at speed. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. ” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts. Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. "I'm sorry," she said.
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