He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. So long as she stood beside him, he was safe. And I don’t. F. Mac's.
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