Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. It is better that you go away now, I think. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. Accepting his glass from the butler, Gerald glanced at Mrs Sindlesham and saw a dimple peep out. You are my slave—and such you shall continue.
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