Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. ” He slipped off the horse. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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