" "That is to say, you wish you had let me die?" "That was the thought. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. He shall expiate his offences on the gibbet. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. It was a moment or two before Gerald, opening his eyes on the girl’s astounded expression, recollected himself sufficiently to pull out of the extraordinary impact she’d had on him. “The things involved in it are,” he answered gravely. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable.
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