The knight mechanically complied with his request. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. " The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. Jonathan laughed scornfully.
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