It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. " "Poh! poh! say no more about it," rejoined the man hastily. “I am staying at the Savoy.
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