‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. “Think of what people will say!” That became a refrain. . Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. To reach it would be a most difficult undertaking. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. “You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion.
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