She did not remember how many seasons it took before she relented, how much time before she decided to toy with his affections. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. Gerald looked at it, then at her face. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. For the present, he murmured his farewells, and turning, caught Hilary’s eye and walked away, crossing the ballroom to move into the less opulent, and less crowded, saloon next door where servants were dispensing refreshments. "Hurrah!" shouted he, waving his hat triumphantly over his head. The stairs were outside but they had been covered with a thin plastic roof. "'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely.
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