Gerald raised a questioning eyebrow. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so. And now she had sent Jack away. Courtlaw. Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale.
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