She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. Burn your palette and your easel. ‘It did not seem to me that it was so. My will never faltered. . A buxom piece, who looked, Gerald decided, as if she would be more at home in an amorous engagement in a hayloft than sitting demurely in a ballroom. "Nothing you can say to the contrary will convince me that you have not been accessory to his flight. . I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge.
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