She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. She held out her hand for it, but Gerald smiled. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. ’ ‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold.
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