‘Ah, no,’ Gerald uttered at once, lowering his voice and infusing it with all the promise he could command. . She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. Totally disregarding the pain, he picked up the nail, and reserved it for future use.
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