All right, I’m coming. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. "I'll soon settle this business. He's down in Patagonia somewhere. ’ ‘Will you indeed? Truly?’ His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. Fast asleep, he is. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat.
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