To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. Either ignorant of the accident, or heedless of it, the foremost horseman pursued his way without even turning his head. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. ‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’ He sipped his wine and shrugged.
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