Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether.
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