For was not Gerald a gentleman? An Englishman, whose services any female—excluding her own self so idiote— would be very happy to have. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good.
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