I tried to get across the terrace and onto the bridge to introduce myself, but the crowds did not part and I lost you. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. Only I’m so incensed with that crazy fool Gerald that—oh, well, never mind. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep.
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