The old lady’s face was stiff with anger. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. ‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand.
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