Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. “It is nothing of any importance. ’ Taking the chair she had indicated with a careless wave of one stiff-fingered hand, Gerald felt hope burgeoning. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. It's only a gentleman come to offer you his hand.
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