’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. “You were booked of course. The soi-disant Valade escapes and takes my proof, which I have broken on his head.
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