A buxom piece, who looked, Gerald decided, as if she would be more at home in an amorous engagement in a hayloft than sitting demurely in a ballroom. Beyond that everything was nebulous. "Well, Sir?" gasped Sir Rowland. He gave you a poison. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed.
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