’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. "Impossible!" echoed Wild, with a fearful imprecation. ’ ‘Don’t you believe it. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. Burn your palette and your easel. It is we who have become the parasites and toys. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms.
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