The terror faded from her eyes. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. He understood. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. Ruth loved him. But, whether she likes it or not, I aim to be on hand to get her out of it.
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