Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. He savored the last solo, the coda. “DEAR MR. \" He said. Jests are not for seasons like this. Say something. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. Brendon,” she said, “if I could ask for advice, or borrow money from any one, I would from you—there! But I cannot. " "Go on, tell me," he urged, enchanted.
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