Hurry. ‘Go on, Gerald. Return, I implore of you, to your master,—to Mr. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. ’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. Kentish family. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. ’ Gerald frowned.
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