There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. ‘Gerald had to change both shirt and breeches. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly. Things now began to wear so serious a aspect that a messenger was secretly despatched to the Savoy for troops, and in half an hour a regiment of the guards arrived, who by dint of great exertion succeeded in partially dispersing the tumultuous assemblage. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. " "There it is;" replied the other, tossing him the glove. The Storm. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. " CHAPTER XV.
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