Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. Besides, Gerald would not for the world have passed up the chance of a little excitement. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. ‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped.
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