" "Will you be taking a pole-chair?" "If that's the racket. ‘Why do you think I want a man ready to run to me with every move she makes?’ countered Gerald. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. The air was crisp and dry. You did not learn that in a convent. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. Gerald’s task was to stop him from doing so. ‘Well, water under the bridge is that, miss. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully. " "Be it so," replied Jack, putting up his blade.
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