“How so?” “I should have shared these things with you earlier, my sweet heart. Nobody can trust you. “Don’t let them know I’m here. ‘But―but how can he know?’ His soldier’s instinct overtook Gerald and he dropped all his insouciance in a bang, becoming brisk. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. I was in hopes you'd be content with my hat and wig.
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