The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. The fellow Kimble, to whom Gerald was indebted, was gaping. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. Very likely by this time the whole truth is known. Jack was not half your age when he died. “I must go.
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