‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. She’s right upstairs. Maggot. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether. I'll speak to McClintock to-night and see if he won't take us for a junket on The Tigress.
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