She must not tell Martha about Gerald. ‘They weren’t no soldiers. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music.
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