‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter. She was as fair as the lily of the lotus. Spurlock stepped into the room.
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