"Pick up that blade, Nab," vociferated Wild, finding himself hotly pressed, "and stab him. “Mr. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. You are my prisoner, murderer. ’ Gerald frowned in an effort of memory, and then laughed as he recalled one of the lies she had invented for his benefit.
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