Gerald’s temper flared. Then her eyes flashed. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. " "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. He continued alternately to be tossed in the air, or rolled in the kennel until he was borne out of sight.
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