‘That’s not much comfort. ’ Much to Melusine’s chagrin, Gerald folded his arms and leaned back, as if wholly at his ease. “It’s his birthday. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. Still unconscious of anything he did physically. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. She glanced at him. A queer nut. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. She infused menace into her voice.
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