But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. " So saying, she planted herself between Jack and the turnkey. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. ‘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.
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