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I don't want her hurt. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. My death, probably. " "Keep it," said Trenchard, haughtily. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. So Mrs. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. Her aunt was a long time before she answered.
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