The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly. He was suddenly calm. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. She disengaged her hands and stood up. Stanley considered. John Sheppard. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket.
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