The effort to maintain her self-control was almost superhuman. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Bring me clothing, I beg of you. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle. I can smell you. The angels in Heaven shall not tear you from me. ‘Why does this person say you are mad?’ ‘Because I am risking having my head blown off,’ Gerald answered cheerfully.
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