” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. ‘—and I love your raven hair, and your bright blue eyes, and your very kissable lips—’ suiting the action to the words ‘—and I love the crazy way you speak English, and the way you curse at me. Wild has done his business. ‘Now then, Gerald, out with it. ” She looked at her toes. . It was astonishing how seldom it was that his instincts betrayed him. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig.
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