" "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. “This has almost killed your father. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me. . . Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. ’ ‘And you are of a disposition entirely untruthful,’ retorted Gerald.
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