Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. "His name, I say!—his name!" thundered the knight. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. ’ Gerald drew his breath in sharply as Lord Charvill took a step towards his granddaughter, thrusting out his head.
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