‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. That was the only sound he heard. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted. "I was just going," said Thames.
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