Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. "Well, I won't dispute your judgment in such matters, Mr. 58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. ‘I can’t do that. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. What need had she of Gerald, or anyone? Yet, if he was here, would he not make some foolish game with her and make her laugh? Instead of behaving in this fashion so stupide, and crying, crying, crying. He pulled away.
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