. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. The thought of going back!—the thought of the unknown out there!—" with a tragic gesture toward the east. It’s—it’s a social difference. . Mr. ’ Gerald grinned.
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