The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. What does she look like?’ ‘Black hair. ‘And I am delighted to see that you are ready to admit that the Charvills—or rather the Valades—are indeed your affair. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. I have been the vicomte’s secretary, remember. ‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’ Gerald hesitated.
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