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He found that the skiff had been dashed against one of the buttresses of the bridge. His advice was mostly practical. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. Upon which Mrs. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. A group of ten began emerging outside the ticket area. “I’m inclined to think, Stanley, myself that as a matter of fact it was the expurgated Romeo and Juliet did the mischief. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth.
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