’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. “Let your friends act for you. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet.
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