‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. But you must get him into the chair as fast as you can, and hurry off to Newgate. In lieu of it, he still adhered to the sleek black crop, which, throughout life, formed a distinguishing feature in his appearance.
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