" ***** "To me, you dirty blackguard!" cried Spurlock, flinging aside his helmet. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. Quick, now. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?.
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