’ ‘Entirely English,’ said Gerald as one making a discovery. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. Decidedly this was imbecile. Her tone was hoarse with passion. There was no need to be afraid for me.
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