Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. But Jack did not heed them. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish.
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