She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. David Courtlaw. Don’t be afraid to go on thinking it. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a woman’s crowning experience. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton.
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