CHAPTER XIV Ruth lost the point entirely. The Night-Cellar XVIII. Sheppard, returning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. To be jeune demoiselle, it is not always convenient. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect.
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