It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. "Follow me, Thames," cried Jack, dropping into the chasm. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms.
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