Take it," he cried, lifting the babe from the bottom of the boat, and flinging it towards its unfortunate father. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. Take care of the old clothesman, and leave the rest to me. Gerald sighed.
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