‘Wait a minute, though. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. She was the actress his whim had chosen to play a passive part. It was not a long prayer. ‘Champion?’ ‘The lad you saw following her. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. Somehow logic could not explain her.
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