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“Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. In the present case it did not matter, as there was no one else within earshot. I shouldn't care to express an opinion. ’ ‘Now you come to mention it, it is stupid,’ Gerald said, struck. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt.
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