Gerald liked her enormously. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. I shan't let you off a farthing. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze.
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