‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. “A man can manage without hair; A man scores always, everywhere. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise.
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