She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. “I wish he had,” she said.
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