There was no need to be afraid for me. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. ‘Come, cry a truce. Sheppard. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. "I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. "Curse him!" muttered Abraham. I know all. He grew even harder.
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