He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. At length, after he had given up the point from sheer exhaustion, the Amazon seized him by the throat, and pushed him backwards with such force that he rolled over the counter. For heaven’s sake, give him some Madeira or something, Gerald! Anything to calm him down. Mischief bubbled up in her. “It was a phase,” she said. “Because I hate you!” She spat. See paragraph 1. She had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged.
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