Give me your hand. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. For the sort of love-making you think about.
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