‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. Slowly she released the hammer on the pistol, uncocking it, and Gerald became conscious that he had been holding his breath. Alone; not even the dog to warn her, and Hoddy deep in the island somewhere. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked.
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