"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. " Jonathan gave utterance to a torrent of imprecations. “Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. ‘Oh, peste. ‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand. “That,” she answered, “is far easier to believe.
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