Gerald’s gaze bored into hers. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. Now," he added, as his commands were reluctantly obeyed, "help me on with them. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. —'How so?' says I. “Come sit with me, beautiful.
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