Her head rose. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it. It was bleeding again. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. But you have looked after me very well, and we will not allow this Gérard, who makes me all the time excessively angry, you understand, to make trouble between us. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step.
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