Gerald’s gaze bored into hers. Losing his presence of mind, Jack quitted his hold, and dropped upon the frame. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. But she made no answer. “You are the type that I want to marry someday, you’ve got a beautiful body, such pretty eyes.
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