"To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. There isn’t. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered. "I'll tell you why," he said. And yet—I love you. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister.
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