‘Never mind where. She is called Madame Ibstock, you understand. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. Lucy sized up the girl. “I think,” he said, “that I am right. For although I must confess it reads very much like an application or a testimonial or some such thing as that, I can assure you I am writing this in fear and trembling with a sinking heart. ’ She turned and swept away from him, pacing the length of the room to the window Gerald had unshuttered.
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