“What else can happen?” asked Miss Miniver, with a little weak gesture at the glow. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. I am not angry with you, but with this—this—’ ‘Idiot? Imbecile?’ offered Gerald in a helpful tone. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. In spite of the tumultuous joy which agitated him, the bridegroom could not prevent the intrusion of some saddening thoughts, as he reflected upon the melancholy scene which he had so recently witnessed in the same place. He walked out into the Champs Elysées and sat down.
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