“I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms. I shall find him yet. But it is that I have a very bad temper, you understand. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company.
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