A furious attack was made on Jonathan, who, though he defended himself like a lion, was desperately wounded, and would inevitably have perished if he had not been protected by the guards, who were obliged to use both swords and fire-arms upon the mob in his defence. "I swear it," rejoined Jonathan, readily. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. “I suppose, daddy, you’ve no objection to my going on with my work at the Imperial College?” she asked. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand. He has no imagination, no real generosity. " CHAPTER XIX.
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