For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. In spite of all this, he grew daily better and stronger, and his spirits revived. You had better let me go again. The man or woman who did something for nothing always excited his suspicions; they were playing some kind of a game. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us. She may afford us some necessary information.
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