"The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. But you could have just as easily lost your womb in the Pestilence, and your life. So I ran away, blindly, knowing nothing of the world outside. “I wish you didn’t. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. Gerald’s chest tightened.
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