Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. She could think of nothing more to say. Brother and Sister VIII. We both understood that. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. I die happy—quite happy in beholding you.
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