‘I’m taking you to Gerald, my girl. You're luck. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. “My dear, you have learned the hard way what happens when you do not eat. “You are in luck, Miss Pellissier,” he declared. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open.
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