It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword.
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