The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. . Only she is not Madame Valade at all. ’ ‘I do not tell you why,’ the lady uttered flatly. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen.
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