It may bring us together again. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. The Iron Bar. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger. Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. He changed his mind however, and simply motioned to her to proceed. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands.
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