Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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