Please sit with me. His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table. On the way home he was still thoughtful. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. . ’ ‘That is what you thought of me. ‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald.
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