Why do you think I’m indulging in all this very un-English love talk?’ ‘But you are idiot, Gérard. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. He passed but a cursory glance over the formal certificate that identified the Frenchman before him as one André Valade, distant cousin to the Vicomte Valade. You must remember, you've just begun to read; you haven't any comparisons. That’s the fact of the matter. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. Every moment. You, Anna, are one of them. She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms.
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