“You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. “Why should it matter?” he said. ‘Let go!’ ‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Gerald demanded. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. " "Do you mock me?" cried Jack, levelling a pistol at him. .
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