The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her. All this juncture, a thundering crash was heard against the side of the bridge. Look! Is that some one coming out?” The front door of the flats stood open, and through it a woman, slim and veiled, passed on to the pavement and turned with swift footsteps in the opposite direction. It had been her home for hundreds of years. Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence.
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