Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. And then suddenly—a relief. One cannot expect that soldiers can be sympathique to one they believe may be a French spy. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. "You've but a sorry lodging, Mrs. ‘Sindlesham? But Gerald has gone out of town to visit that very person. But the morning brought courage again, and those first intimations of horror vanished completely from her mind.
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