Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. 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. Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm. Would that a certain major might cast upon her such a look. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. An unwelcome idea came to him. She was silent. Mrs.
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