Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. Let us walk about. ‘You didn’t understand it any better than I. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance. You do not make me afraid like this.
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