Death belongs to God, young man. My thanks, by the by. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. ‘Now then, Gerald, out with it. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. " "I know; but …" "And sometimes you say out loud: 'That's great stuff!' I never make any sound.
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