Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. “You had only to ask——” “Do you think,” Anna interrupted, with a note of passion trembling also in her tone, “that I would have taken alms from Sir John, the man to whom I had lied for your sake.
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