CHAPTER IX. " The Wastrel rushed. ’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. "One'd think it rained fares, as well as blowed great guns. Yes, yes, you do not like the French, and so this English lady here, she is altogether your flesh. But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good.
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