“Home, of course,” she answered. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. He jumped back, cursing. She had no place she loved. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. I am a murderer. "That we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind her. You need not be afraid. Terrific yells rent the air.
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