She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. ‘But if there is one, how in the world did this mystery lady of yours know of it?’ ‘That, Lucy, is precisely the point that has been exercising my mind,’ Gerald said, turning his eyes once more to the group of French exiles in the alcove.
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