The Pursuit 425 XXV. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it. Disappointment flickered in Gerald’s chest, and he did not hesitate to speak his mind, unable to help a reproachful note. ” But she could not talk freely about love, she found, for all that manumission. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
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