But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. Then instinct took over. “Does he know that I am involved with someone?” “Of course he knows.
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