F. ’ ‘Addlepated imbecile, Hilary,’ corrected Gerald calmly. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. But it is no longer necessary.
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