‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. The shock and distress were genuine. “Don’t think that I have been playing the spy upon you,” he continued. Lady Trafford uttered a prolonged scream, and fainted. Softly she rose to her feet. Briefly explained, she was as the child who discards the rag baby for the living one. I hate what I am. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine.
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