“Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. ’ ‘Poor little devil,’ said Gerald, genuinely sorry for her. Drawing the pay of life and then not living. There were shadows under his eyes. The walls of the room were lined with shelves, on which were glass jars, retorts, countless bottles and many appliances of surgical science. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly.
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