58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. The little matter of an accent may be misleading, I grant you, but —’ He was interrupted, and with impatience. He'd have some fun with that Chinaman before the morning was out. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. ’ Gerald looked round.
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