“I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. But don’t think your heroic milice will save you. Epithalamy might do. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously.
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