Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor. “I’d run away with you in a heartbeat.
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