That was the glorious if bewildering truth. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. ‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral.
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