She was slender, and sometimes she seemed tall, and walked and carried herself lightly and joyfully as one who commonly and habitually feels well, and sometimes she stooped a little and was preoccupied. I am not angry with you, but with this—this—’ ‘Idiot? Imbecile?’ offered Gerald in a helpful tone. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. There was no longer any risk in association with her. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes. He must win this man's confidence, even at the risk of being called mad. . ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh.
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