‘Come on. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. Pretty good stuff, some of it. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. You ignore me! That’s not a good way to treat your only friend. “Please go and see that—nothing happens,” she pleaded. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. He tries hard to conceal it, but he cannot.
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