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“How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. ‘Go on, Gerald. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. ch. ” She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard spring green and almond blossom. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. “Michelle, the only reason I ever started to behave or dress differently was to please that boy.
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