What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. “Not since 1582 when I left him and came to America. But, by Jove! you are fierce! You are like those Roman women who carry stilettos in their hair. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. Fortescue’s steps, and encountered him with an air of artless surprise.
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