His face turned a dark crimson. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. ’ Roding gave him a look of respect. ’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen.
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