He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. ‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand. Lonesomeness isn't my worry.
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