’ The full story—or as much as Gerald knew—of Valade’s machinations shocked the old lady so much that she was obliged to recruit her strength with a refill from the Madeira decanter. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. You’d better not have all the money on you; you had better open a small account in the postoffice and draw it out a fiver at a time. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is. A lesson learned.
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