The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. She kissed Cathy's soft cheek as she entered the warm kitchen. ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. ‘You said she was beautiful. " CHAPTER XIII.
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