She answered slowly. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. He refrained from pointing out that the case would be exactly the same if she was not a lady. “I had the pleasure of—er—meeting you more than once, I believe. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. She knew, too, she must not hesitate.
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