But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. . He relayed many details of the location and the beautiful rivers of her home, a subject she never tired of. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill.
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