"Hell's curses!" roared Jonathan. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. I bent over him. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. What news. But I'll never part with your irons. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love.
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