‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. His inclinations prompted him most decidedly to take the vacant chair. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. ‘That way. He was caressing an idea. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. “Ah, Vee,” he said, “that’s better! and kissed her back rather clumsily. In those revolutionary times one had to be prepared. CHAPTER XII. How old are you?” She asked.
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