She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Alors, how did you get in?’ ‘Oh, we broke in,’ Gerald told her cheerfully. " "That's the way it goes. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer.
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