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But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. I have never been wrong about the sex of an unborn child. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it.
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