Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly. “Mr. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. Kneebone said, just now. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him. In the middle there was a gate.
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