‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. The south-east end of the island was hillocky, with volcanic subsoil. Like the flaws of an old marble. He glanced up at the coachman. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil.
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