He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. Just as he had told Gerald would be the case, there was nothing of interest to hear, especially as he had met the girl in London only last night. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace.
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