‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. Capes became rigid and adhesive. The pistol fell to the floor. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. "Poor Mrs. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated.
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