"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. ‘So now you may safely cease your roundaboutation, and tell me what took you to Remenham House. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. But I don’t suppose you can understand. I stubbornly insisted that we wait, and you woke up. "Leave me, Sir; I insist. We don’t consider each other; we needn’t. I don’t quite know why. I’m sorry.
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