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Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. I never forgive an injury. He scratched his upper lip reflectively. I am not angry with you, but with this—this—’ ‘Idiot? Imbecile?’ offered Gerald in a helpful tone. On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison.
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