"The poor things!" The manager laughed. "Drink your peg; don't bother about me. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. The Dawn Pearl; how well they had named her! The pearl without price—his and not his! He took her arm and drew it under his; and together they went down the veranda steps. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. Maybe others that I do not know about. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace.
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