If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if her life depended upon the answer. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love.
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