“I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips. ‘If you shoot me,’ Gerald said quickly, throwing out a hand, ‘I shan’t be able to rescue you. “Rubbish!” he answered. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. What part of 1902 is it that you grew up in?\" He poked fun at her, clearly infatuated. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one.
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