He had done it. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Perhaps she was. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. When he reached the happy ending, he waited. But I'm not worrying about that. " "I'll have no explanations whatever," replied the carpenter, disdainfully, "except before a magistrate.
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