‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. But why did he turn away? "Wait!" Ruth called to her father. She rode him gently.
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