“What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head. "Kiss me. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. Good night. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. The Times slipped from his fingers.
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