“Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. ‘She may well try to go back. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. I’ve thought that out, and you must make up your mind to it.
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