My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage. This is a mere boy. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. “Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret.
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