I cannot let you go. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. "You'll find a waterman asleep under his tilt in one of them ere craft, if you look about, Sir," replied Ben, backing water as he spoke. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly.
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