McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. Thames Street was wholly impassable. “He wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting.
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