‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. He contrived to break off his sister's match; and this he accomplished so cleverly, that he maintained the strictest friendship with Sir Cecil. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. "Whatever you say—you, behind those stars there, if you are a God. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you.
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