His arms were naturally big and his chest was covered with a smattering of soft hairs. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. What was the matter with Spurlock that was to keep him in bed three or four weeks? He would dig that out of the hotel manager. The aunt laughed. “Well, you know. It must be somewhere hereabouts. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. \"No. 3.
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