‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. Jack did not advance to meet her. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered.
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