His fingers closed upon her hand. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. Gerald raised his cockaded hat, and smiled.
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