“Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. Terrific yells rent the air. Here, it might be anything at all. “No, I am alone,” she answered. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee.
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