" "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. " "If only…. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms. It isn’t. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Agreeably he helped her take the shirt off. "Shall I help you on with it, Sir?" replied the Jew, becoming suddenly respectful. Only a son’s another story. It was partly to pay a grudge he had against father. ’ Pierced to the heart by the poignancy of this utterance, Gerald could neither move nor speak. CHAPTER I.
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