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Her pulses began to race. Wood is now in very affluent circumstances. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. "I hope not.
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