‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. “We have to get in, I think,” said a nice little old lady in a bonnet to Ann Veronica, speaking with a voice that quavered a little. Lord, I am sixty. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. And when they got to Covent Garden Ramage secured one of the little upper boxes, and they came into it as the overture began. And from that point they went on to a thoroughly embittering wrangle.
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