. ’ Pierced to the heart by the poignancy of this utterance, Gerald could neither move nor speak. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. We WERE thieves. God help me. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired.
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