I want you. ’ ‘I am not the imbecile you take me for,’ Gerald said with dangerous calm. “We’re going to be sensible. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. Good night. Parbleu, but I will certainly kill him this time. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. I am five-and-thirty, and I have knocked about in the world and tasted the quality of life.
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