Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Captain Hilary Roding and his inamorata, Miss Lucilla Froxfield. She cursed herself for a fool. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. But it was her proof.
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