A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. ‘Must be another of her lies. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. ‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men.
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