"Now—begin. Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there. Kneebone," returned Shotbolt. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. ’ You mean you hope you do, thought Gerald cynically. " "I will—I will," replied Wood hastily. But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir.
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