‘On the contrary,’ Gerald argued, frowning. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter.
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