" "The very idea is dreadful," whimpered Edgeworth Bess. ’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was.
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