‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. "He left Dollis Hill at ten o'clock on that night, and has not since returned. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack.
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