Gerald was instantly on the alert. ” He started back as though he had been shot. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. And he liked her. "Yes, or no?" "I will make no terms with you," rejoined Wild, sternly. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment.
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