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She held out her hand for it, but Gerald smiled. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. He put his free arm around her and held the censer ready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, they were, so far as intent, in each other's arms. "And the Marchioness is your daughter," added Thames. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones.
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