‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. "There's my answer!" rejoined Wild, hurling the bludgeon at him, with such fatal effect, that striking him on the head it brought him instantly to the ground. ‘Quick, Gérard. Still, it was true about men. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. She rested her head upon his shoulder.
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