But I see now. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Those were dreams. "They're about to murder your child —your child, I tell you! Do you comprehend what I say, Joan?" "I've hurt my head," replied Mrs. S. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion.
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