For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. But there have been times, Anna, when your work has startled me. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were.
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