"I was at Tyburn. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. And, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. " Romance! The Seven Seas are hers. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue.
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