Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. ‘You can’t prove nothing. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. “Not to-night,” she said. ’ For a moment Gerald said nothing at all.
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