" "Impossible, Sir," replied Ireton, greatly alarmed. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. “A Socialist of the order of John Ruskin. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. He looked at his friend. “It was such a surprise to see you. It creaked slightly. "What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily.
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