“How are you feeling?” She asked with grave concern in her voice. ‘Eh bien, does that mean that you will do it again?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Gerald uttered, alarmed. It probably still wouldn’t help. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden.
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