“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. “My dear Anna! As though I should think of depressing you with my long list of misdeeds. ‘It were that there major, miss. \"My parents. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. ‘Gammon. The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way.
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