He did not spend more time with her. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. His glance came up again and met hers. “You shall drive home with me in a hansom, if you will. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. I have said your life is in danger, Thames.
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