‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. Love is one thing and friendship quite another. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. "There's the house," said Jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little trim garden in front of it. “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones.
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