Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. ‘Well, I can see you won’t let it alone, so what do you propose to do about the wench?’ ‘I’ll die before I let it alone,’ Gerald vowed. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. ” She laughed.
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