Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. “If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardly with you. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. Not so Gosse. The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had.
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