"In with him!" "Ay—ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. ‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Hilary, watching the Frenchman go by with the lad after him.
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