Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. "Have you been more successful, Sir?" ventured Ireton. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust.
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