A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. “Oh! please don’t lose yourself in a wilderness of secondary considerations,” she said. "It's a mercy you both escaped!" ejaculated Wood, only just finding his tongue. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. He told me that he was a millionaire.
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