“You say you want a vote,” said Mr. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. “You’re splendid. It was perfectly legitimate. . ’ ‘As a matter of fact, it isn’t,’ conceded Gerald. From the second descended Mr. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. But, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes vanished with it. . " Sheppard immediately complied with the painter's request; while Gay and Figg drew back on one side, and Hogarth on the other.
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