” The detective nodded. If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go. You don’t deserve it, but he does. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. I would not have him know—now—for the world. I am certainly no ghost. ’ ‘She is no longer a mystery,’ Gerald said.
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