And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. \"I guess so. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. ’ Gerald drew his breath in sharply as Lord Charvill took a step towards his granddaughter, thrusting out his head. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness.
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