The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. ‘Why does this person say you are mad?’ ‘Because I am risking having my head blown off,’ Gerald answered cheerfully. She asked no further questions for the moment. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. "If you talk as long as an Old Bailey counsel, you'll not alter my determination.
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