Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. Slowly she released the hammer on the pistol, uncocking it, and Gerald became conscious that he had been holding his breath. “These are her rooms,” she said. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. He sat down.
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