I must say what I have to say!” “But not now—not here. Gerald shook his head. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly.
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