Good words, without deeds, are rushes and reeds. “I did it for love of you,” he said. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. When he could find words, he tried by the most urgent solicitations to prevail upon the constable to let him out. They conversed, or more or less she interviewed him.
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