"While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing. “Oh, Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. ’ Gerald frowned in an effort of memory, and then laughed as he recalled one of the lies she had invented for his benefit. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced. He did not spend more time with her. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo.
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