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The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. ’ ‘Oh, is he?’ Gerald said grimly. "The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife. ” “It might become one,” he answered. “There, there, now. His new wife’s face was sweet and angelic with hair the color of flax, her belly already visibly large beneath a roe skin pelt. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her.
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