“You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. ‘It is all too probable that she would wish to change into lay clothing to escape recognition. \" He perked up, ready to make conversation. ‘You were his daughter. " "I see. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals.
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