‘Fiddle, Gerald. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. They had as many designations as grades. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. It was rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before. His employer retreated into the further apartment, leaving the door ajar. That's a queer yarn.
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