"Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. I'm about to leave this country for ever. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject.
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