‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable. ‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand. Sepulchre's church.
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