A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. He was snoring stupidly. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. The doctor said you wrote.
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