” She laid her hand softly upon his. I’m sorry. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. You came to see me in the hospital. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. ’ ‘The nuns?’ she said, gazing at him innocently. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player. I'm no mollycoddle.
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