’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. Heedless, however, of the consequences, he pursued his task. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern. The progress of time was marked in Mr. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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