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Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. ‘Am I a fool? Can I blow off a head with a pistol which is not loaded?’ ‘She has a point,’ conceded Alderley, relaxing a little as amusement burgeoned again ‘Ten to one she is a French spy,’ burst from Roding. The lines about his mouth gradually softened. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described.
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