‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. Of course there are, millions of them. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. " "Well, take a chair," rejoined Kneebone. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances.
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