Ruth did not resent the use of her mind and body in this tale of adventure. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. We’ll go to the shops. He suddenly became eloquent and plausible.
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