” He resumed, after a mouthful: “Here is a girl of sixteen or seventeen, seventeen and a half to be exact, running about, as one might say, in London. Walpole's order to that effect—but not before. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. ” She replied weakly. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. He filled her glass with champagne. “Something. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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