“Hold on. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. . ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. After that consolations fled. He remained listening attentively. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. Then Mike came along. Without whisky," went on McClintock, "your irritability is beyond tolerance.
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