It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. ‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. "But your dreadful projects will recoil on your own head. She glared at him with satisfaction. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words.
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