I'll have no such toast drunk at my table!" "It's the king's birthday," urged the woollen draper. ” She gazed at him. ‘Neither do I,’ he responded, frowning, ‘but for Gerald’s sake, I’ll do anything I can. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. On the way home he was still thoughtful. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline.
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