Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. It could not be she who had done this. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. She must kill this man, or kill herself. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. “Yeah, but I have two brothers. ’ Gerald laughed. Will you let me go out of this room?” “No,” cried Ramage; “hear me out! I’ll have that satisfaction, anyhow.
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