The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head. Do I blow off the head of a man with whom I am in love?’ ‘That,’ said Gerald, disengaging his hand and at last drawing her into his arms, ‘deserves a reward.
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