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She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. For was not Gerald a gentleman? An Englishman, whose services any female—excluding her own self so idiote— would be very happy to have. ‘But I’m hanged if I know why you find it so amusing. No—you shall come with me to Waterloo. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. "All cannot be well, if this is true.
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