"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. I must have this beast brought to London with me, that is seen.
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