The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. “How did you find me?” He asked. Bounding the corner of a garden wall, he came upon his former place of imprisonment. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade.
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