‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. Only you good ones— shirk. Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. As the lapse of time and change of circumstances have wrought a remarkable alteration in the appearance of the poor widow, it may not be improper to notice it here. This man and he were alike, and about the same age.
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