“Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. He was a man tout à fait capable, this Gerald. " "Let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host. I said I’d do anything.
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