” “And for me,” Anna echoed. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. ” She looked at him, pleading, miserable in her fancy gown. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. Here, Peter," he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, "ask your father to step this way.
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