Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. The man himself was not a pleasant object. She was very pretty. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Fruit trees had been brought all the way from India so their product could be laden on the wedding table, fruits with exotic shapes and haunting flavors ended the meal, cleansing the palate. " "I had to. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark.
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