’ ‘But what have I done?’ protested Gerald innocently. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. However, it doesn't much signify. The wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you.
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