“How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. ‘Never fear, my love. Slowly she released the hammer on the pistol, uncocking it, and Gerald became conscious that he had been holding his breath. You will have a bungalow to yourself," continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your own affair. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good.
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