I spent this afternoon in detention. His tone was kind and sympathetic. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. "You had better let me convey her to Dollis Hill," he said. I must stay a minute longer, if only to see you smile. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. Alors, how did you get in?’ ‘Oh, we broke in,’ Gerald told her cheerfully.
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