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’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. “These are the times that would make me glad to live forever, if only they lasted. ” “You will make me horribly conceited,” he answered. To-night we leave for Marseilles. Charvill’s command of French was enough to tell him that, for its entire content was devoted to commending Nicholas Charvill’s fourteen year old daughter into the care of the Abbess. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives. ’ Gerald controlled a quivering lip. Moving room to room it was. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Wary they might be. But men are so careless, there's no trusting anything to them! However, I must try to brazen it out.
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