See paragraph 1. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. ” “I don’t have power over men’s fates. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. Bon. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her.
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