I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister. All this torrent of misleading, spurious stuff that pours from the press. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. ‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind. " And, once more enveloping himself in darkness, he pursued his course. She stole her glances sideways like the rest of the women. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning.
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