Good-bye aunt. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. " Prudence shrugged. E. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. 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. .
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