’ ‘She is no longer a mystery,’ Gerald said. Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. ‘I am not a person, Marthe. He is a knight. . The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room.
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