She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. My nerves were in rags. ‘What do you mean to do with her?’ ‘Just keep her talking, that’s all,’ Gerald said quickly. But I must summon my janizaries. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring and gave it to him to examine. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself.
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