It’s not like we’re getting married. ‘You are not at all stupid. Gerald lost his head. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. Wood became sensible that he was not alone. She had looked forward to an explanation. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. " "More blood! more blood!" cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief.
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