I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. . ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. " "What a strange history is mine!" said Thames.
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