“Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. He was a man tout à fait capable, this Gerald. "He who stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared. "Ruth?" he called. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped.
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