There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. " "Zounds!" exclaimed Wood; "it's my old master-key. " "What for? What do you want of them?" "Why, they are … yours.
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