‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. His voice now had lost its ironies. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. "You who are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears. Get the pole out of your ass.
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