’ ‘Oh, have you?’ grunted Gerald, surprising in himself a surge of some odd emotion at these words. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. “I want to have no distractions. A dry cough's the trumpeter of death.
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