To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. " "Let me go," implored Mrs. “He will find it difficult no doubt to alter his style of living,” she said. "What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat.
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