Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. ” He dared, his nostrils flaring. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. The decision had been sound. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts.
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