“Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. ” He stepped back as though he had received a blow. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. ‘I am done, Gérard. . So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. And he had destroyed all this. But the love of life prevailed over his fears.
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