CHAPTER XXXI. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. Old Kesterton, choleric-looking individual nearly opposite, will curse the cooking till he’s black in the face, but he never misses a dinner. He did not particularly care. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. ’ A thought caught in her mind and she turned quickly to her old nurse. “Your great success has been my joy, our joy as well as yours. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. Gosse cursed him finely, of course, but there was nothing he could do.
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