CHAPTER XVII. He was so seldom wrong. She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. He was amused. Henceforth, I utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon me. Sheppard, anxiously. The fellow Kimble, to whom Gerald was indebted, was gaping. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came.
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