" "They may find me. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. " "That is your fault, none of mine. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not.
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