Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. " She kindled with sympathy. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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