He patted the hand on his sleeve. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. All the events of the previous day rushed to his recollection; and though he had been unintentionally the cause of his mother's death, he reproached himself as severely as if he had been her actual murderer. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. “I have had nothing since, and it seems a very long time. I'll try to fill in the gaps. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced. "I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. Never bought a shirt in my life, Mr.
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