"Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. But you couldn't. She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. Also she had tried him as a dragoman and as a gendarme, which seemed the most suitable of all to his severely handsome, immobile profile. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it.
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