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"My portrait!" echoed Jack. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. . ‘Aye, sir. Without preamble, in a voice of extreme exasperation, he demanded, ‘Now what the devil’s to do? What in God’s name do you mean by sending Gerald such a ridiculous letter? Never read anything half as crazy. ” She threw away the end of her cigarette. In truth, she liked Gerald also. I never want you to be ashamed of me.
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