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Q. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. Here lay a heap of knockers of all sizes, from the huge lion's head to the small brass rapper: there, a collection of sign-boards, with the names and calling of the owners utterly obliterated. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. CHAPTER XXXI.
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