Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. “It’s very good,” she said. "In spots you are a thoroughbred; but here's a black mark on your ticket, lad. Wood. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her.
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