"Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. A buxom piece, who looked, Gerald decided, as if she would be more at home in an amorous engagement in a hayloft than sitting demurely in a ballroom. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. The lines about his mouth gradually softened. He had already spoken his mind on the folly of allowing a clearly dangerous female to escape a second time. Murder had become nothing to her. "We have had a sad loss, my dear Winifred," he began,—"for I must use the privilege of an old friend, and address you by that familiar name,—we have had a sad loss in the death of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere.
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