‘That—that—why do you speak of him?’ ‘Because I feel you ought to know,’ Gerald said calmly, but rising and watching her closely, ‘that all your trouble may be in vain. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. “There are no males at men to stare; A man scores always, everywhere. I've left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours. She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’.
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