His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. Now, more than ever, it was time to start running. “Silly!” he remarked after a pause. "What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. It was impossible. . ’ Gerald frowned.
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