But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. Perhaps I may borrow yours one day?’ ‘Lucilla, you wretch,’ burst from the captain. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. . ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald.
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