“What can you do?” she asked. "How, Sir?" "Except by adoption. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. No! That was impossible. That there Frenchie didn’t look any too friendly to me. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. To be ill and helpless. And Miss Miniver began to sway her. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen.
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