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Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. Peste, she had forgot the sword. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. The doctor frowned. Ramage!” she began, and his mouth sealed hers and his breath was mixed with her breath. "Sir!" exclaimed Winifred, rising.
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