\" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel. “My sister is sure to be out. ’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. The eldest, Constance, was lost, by the carelessness of a servant, during her infancy, and has never since been heard of: the youngest, Aliva, is the present Lady Trafford.
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