Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. CHAPTER XXVII. "But I'm a blackguard, too, Ruth. After that night she made it a habit. Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp. ’ ‘Why did you not claim it yourself?’ asked Gerald. Wood heard the cry. ’ The full story—or as much as Gerald knew—of Valade’s machinations shocked the old lady so much that she was obliged to recruit her strength with a refill from the Madeira decanter.
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