‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. "As an honest Chinaman. She drew it out with shaking fingers. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket.
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