‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. ‘Did I say so? When last heard from you were claiming some good English name. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. That's the way it goes. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. \"Stop smiling, you're scaring me.
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