You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward. "Not my king's," returned Wood. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his.
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