Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. ‘But I will tell you this, mon vieux. She awoke at 11:12 am, her foster sister snoring in the bed across the room. That is why I was so anxious to leave Paris.
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