Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. You will find the certificate in my pocket.
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