‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. She confided in me yesterday. But, finding the cellar-door open, concluded he had got out that way. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. “My word holds,” she said.
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