“His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. ’ ‘Also stealing,’ added Gerald, with a gesture at the clothes on the bed. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. ’ ‘But she must have known I’d longed to hear of you. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. —'They have,' says he. .
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