He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. ’ ‘Oh, have you?’ grunted Gerald, surprising in himself a surge of some odd emotion at these words. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. I do not wish to seek them out, en effet.
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