‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. She was keenly resolved to do well in the school examination, and not to be drowned in the seas of emotion that threatened to submerge her intellectual being. Then the storm broke. 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. “Thanks, so do you. Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off.
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