‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. Had this not been the case, he must have refused even to see his Frenchified granddaughter. Ruth could not be told now. “It was the night you left Paris. "You forgot your lunch," she said. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag.
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