Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. ’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen.
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