“Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. Had Gosse taken it as he escaped? What could she do? Gosse now knew that she was the daughter of Mary Remenham. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. ” “To a friend?” “To lodgings—alone. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal.
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