" The manager began some computations. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. And no ill-chances. I've come to take you back home. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. Nevertheless she withdrew her hand.
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