“Of course,” he ventured, “I could try for more at the ‘Alhambra. "Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. It isn’t such fun as it seems. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. Wood—and after him came his daughter. .
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