“Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. ‘Hilary was right. ” “It’s dreadful for you to be here,” he said, indicating the yellow presence of the first fog of the year without, “but your aunt told me something of what had happened. For the first time that day, she was finally able to look into his face. ‘He don’t mean you no harm. ‘Aye, sir. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. She had decided that she would spend the next morning answering advertisements in the papers that abounded in the writing-room; and so, after half an hour’s perusal of back numbers of the Sketch in the drawingroom, she had gone to bed.
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