“And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. After rifling the room of everything portable, including some of Mrs. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. " "Are you sure of that," inquired Jackson. ” “I MUST talk with you.
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