"To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. "Why do you laugh?" he asked. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. ‘He told me everything, if you mean Gerald. "But don't ever let me see them again. But why do you ask?" "Because—" stammered the boy. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours.
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