She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. I tried it myself, Sir. You are afraid of the warmth in your blood. Her eyes followed him. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. Set on unravelling her secrets, Gerald pursues every possible clue—much to the indignation of Mademoiselle. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. Look what you have brought upon your pets. I would have heard her. It’s Italian. I don’t believe in the faults. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself.
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