" "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. ‘Prudence? This name I have heard it spoken. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. “One has to be so careful of one’s friends and acquaintances,” he remarked, by way of transition. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. They've heard quite enough for my purpose," he muttered, as his orders were obeyed, and the domestics excluded.
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