‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. Courtlaw, Mr. Sheppard in the asylum, and take her this, and send her that;—and I've never prevented you, though such mistaken liberality's enough to provoke a saint. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again. Wood.
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