He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. “Please don’t,” she said. “I have signed a statement that I shot myself; bad trade and drink, both true—both true. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Straw and other combustibles being collected, were placed in the middle of the audiencechamber.
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