I’m not Gerald, remember. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. I suppose I ought to have been a man. Don’t be afraid to go on thinking it. “Silly!” he remarked after a pause. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. He always followed by showering her with kisses, embracing her tightly as she squirmed and giggled. Take me to the Stone Room.
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