“What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. But let that verse tell my secret. On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture of Jacobitism. We thought of starting in half an hour’s time, and trying for a theatre somewhere on the way. I had already won wars and sailed ships to distant lands by the time I was thirty.
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