’ A trifle discomposed at being caught examining his surroundings, Gerald was provoked into retort. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. “Non. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. '" "An ingenious device," laughed Gay.
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