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“I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Jack affected to close the door, but left it slightly ajar. Gerald began to ease forward, deciding just how he would accost her. He stepped back further. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared. "All right," he said. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. C below. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. ' So I go to Patagonia. I told him the truth.
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