There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. ‘Don’t concern yourself. —You've your answer, Blueskin," he added, pushing that individual, who seemed unwilling to depart, towards the door; "it's useless to urge the matter further. " "You are mocking me, Rowland. My, um, my curfew. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. “May you have as much good fortune as you deserve, but not enough to make you forget us.
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