She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper. That’s one thing clear. The boy she had loved was gone. ‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. He walked hastily to the side of the broad pavement and summoned a fiacre. But here I am to draw upon. I killed him, Nigel.
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