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” She rang the bell, and he waited by her side until she was admitted to the tall, gloomy lodging-house. She decided that she would try to push whatever resolve he had in the car to see where it would lead. He looked half at her and half at the sky. "You have killed him," cried Winifred in alarm. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. The flat was apparently empty. Gerald doubted there would be many eager suitors, even assuming the comtesse was keen to marry off her daughter to a foreign protestant. No, let us dine here, and then go and have our coffee on the boulevards. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. This light did not remain stationary, but could be seen at one moment glimmering through the rents in the roof, and at another shining through the cracks in the wall, or the broken panes of the casement.
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