“My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips. Perhaps you will now explain the alarm. Softly she rose to her feet. For when this Joan said it, I had a memory. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. There were so many things about her which he could not understand.
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