Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. Gerald, intent on his trail, ignored it. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. He brightened as she took off her hood.
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