Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. “Lucy Albert, sir. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. “To the young man himself,” he answered, “no! I simply object to his calling here two or three times a week during my absence. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company.
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