"Ah!" she screamed, seeing the uplifted weapon in Sheppard's hand, "don't hurt Thames—don't, dear Jack! If you want to kill somebody, kill me, not him. “Here, dis is for you. ‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. Only she is not Madame Valade at all.
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