‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. Age is set, impervious to innovations. There was a third lady among the younger set.
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