That old chap has a remarkable range in reading. Wood. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. He claimed me for his wife, and showed to every one a marriage certificate. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. I am.
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