6. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. Her place was not filled; she had been simply noted as absent, and she did a comforting day of admirable dissection upon the tortoise. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. He opened the drawer of the writing table. ‘Again you seek to interfere in my affairs?’ ‘I did warn you I had every intention of doing so,’ said Gerald. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off. Phillips Oppenheim’s most intriguing stories.
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