’ Gerald tutted. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. As he fell, he caught at the projecting masonry. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast.
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