CHAPTER II. ’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. “This,” he said, and then: “No! Is this sweeter? Very well. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers. Not a bark could be discerned on the river, except those already mentioned. What a pig she was.
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