“Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. His spirits began to rise. ‘Has this capitaine of yours not yet rid us of this Emile? What can he find to say to him?’ ‘Don’t be impatient,’ Gerald said, rising too and coming to draw her away from the door. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. “What the hell is going on here, Officer?” He grumbled. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. But about dat jonker," he continued, lowering his voice; "have you anything to add consarnin' him? It's almosht a pity to put him onder de water.
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