‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. Jack instandly extinguished the light, and called to his comrade to come after him. It is always on his person.
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