The three young men exchanged expressive glances. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. Sir Rowland then fell. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. You cannot possibly leave me here alone with Gerald.
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