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’ A faint smile crossed Gerald’s lips. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. I didn’t know he had Italian relatives. “What the hell is going on here, Officer?” He grumbled. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. " "Oh, Ruth couldn't put it on paper, to be sure; but there was no reason to hide the source. Get on with it, then.
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