She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. Utter silence answered him. The imbecile. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. Salvation. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew. Mr.
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