There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. ‘Come, cry a truce. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. Give me my pistol and my dagger. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. ” “There are some French customs,” he declared, “which are admirable.
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