He smiled. " "I am calm—quite calm, Rowland," she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words. You will only make me hurt you the more. He was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to Westminster. She had never felt so cold, she felt even colder than she had in the water. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Gerald lost his head.
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