He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. \"The servants will hear you!\" \"I don't care! Why do you?” She cried. F. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. I am gambling on his intuition. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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