Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. His literary instincts began to stir. She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. "Now, Sir, I'll trouble you for your coat. ‘What Gerald wants with you has me beat. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. She was honest again. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. .
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