The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. Lord, I am sixty. Things you would laugh at. ‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. What need had she of Gerald, or anyone? Yet, if he was here, would he not make some foolish game with her and make her laugh? Instead of behaving in this fashion so stupide, and crying, crying, crying. “I will take my chance.
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