’ ‘I would have done, only you threatened to blow off my head,’ Gerald reminded her, laughing. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. Clientèle was of the most transitory character. Do have some tea, won’t you? If you must, go then. "What will you do?" asked Thames. The chair is in the veranda. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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