If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. She took to listening through closed doors. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them.
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