Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. Gerald raised a questioning eyebrow. “Still, of course, it is possible. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. “Our business here is the right way. I must practise what I preach. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. We’re going in.
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