“It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. A town called Foster. . ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. Martin’s eyes seemed about to pop out of his head. I never made any effort to touch them; so by and by they learned to light fearlessly on my arms and shoulders. ‘Jacques? Oh, that is news of the very finest.
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