Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. For was not Gerald a gentleman? An Englishman, whose services any female—excluding her own self so idiote— would be very happy to have. ” “Where?” He asked.
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