Above her head was an aura of white fire. "You forgot your lunch," she said. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. ‘You do not dare look in my clothes. ’ ‘Ah, but there’s the little matter of your presence here,’ said Gerald on a note of apology. " "Not utterly," rejoined the other. Can’t ask the gent to go abroad and condone a bigamy. " "No. \" he replied, though it was obvious that he was lying.
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