‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. Before he forced an entrance, Jack tried it, and, to his great surprise and delight, found it unfastened. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. Water poured into her eyes, nose, and mouth in a torrent from which she had to turn and wheeze. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. “I do not know.
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