A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. John eased off. By this time Capes’ hair had bleached nearly white, and his skin had become a skin of red copper shot with gold. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. We had no idea.
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