If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. She was in a very uncritical state that afternoon. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. You do not make me afraid like this. “I wonder would you mind seeing who it is. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly.
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