Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. ‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. That paper must be signed, or I take my departure.
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