Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. ‘Why do you think I want a man ready to run to me with every move she makes?’ countered Gerald. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. He delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair.
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