‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. Before I sit down, I have a toast to propose, which I am sure will be received, as it deserves to be, with enthusiasm. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity.
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