"I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. “I suppose I should let go if I had. Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards her. ’ Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret. Was he pleased?” “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” “Not a bit.
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