‘Go on, Gerald. Sheppard, horror-stricken. I do not believe that you will marry David Courtlaw. I’m off to England. Miss Moffatt, the history and moral instruction mistress, was particularly explicit upon this score, and they all agreed in indicating contempt and pity for girls whose minds ran on such matters, and who betrayed it in their conversation or dress or bearing. The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. I’m right again now. He's a Welshman, and I wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him.
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