‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’ Gerald hesitated. "I will struggle no longer with destiny. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. "Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. It is absolutely a frightful neighbourhood, this.
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