‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. Sir Rowland," he added, in a deep whisper, "do you agree to my terms?" "I do," answered Trenchard, in the same tone. “I know that our social order is dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most beautiful in life. Think better of it. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. ‘I’ve never found a woman who did not drive me into a frenzy of boredom. Good-bye aunt. ’ ‘Very good, ma’am. You must wait till supper's over. ‘Don’t want it to break out bleeding again. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery.
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