That’s where you go wrong. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. ‘C’est ridicule. It has been only the sort of nonsense which passes lightly enough between half the men and women in London. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. Her heartbeat quickened. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet.
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