“MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. The aunt laughed. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. ‘Only perhaps I can more readily do so if you will put down that pistol. For a time I must do journalism and work hard. It was Blueskin. White, my landlady, believes his story.
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