gutenberg. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek.
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