“Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. ’ ‘Oh, that,’ Gerald said cautiously. "I haven't quite recovered the fright I got in the Vell-Hole," replied Abraham. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave.
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