‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. ” “Not exactly,” he answered nervously. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. He closed the door. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile.
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