But, by Jove! it’s going to make our loving a fiercely abstract thing. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. Epithalamy might do. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. Gerald crossed back to the window. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Maggot: "I'm tired of you, and will go back to my old lover, Jack Sheppard. Do you know this, Sir?" he added, taking a key from his pocket.
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