As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. He was, however, instantly beaten back; and the fury of the mob was so great that it was with difficulty he could effect a retreat. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. ’ ‘What?’ Appalled, Gerald could only gaze at her. Your life is like a funeral March. F.
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