She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. “Your mother was a Gypsy. The Master of the Mint was accompanied by another gentleman almost as portly as himself, and quite as deliberate in his movements. ” “I will tell him,” Lady Lescelles said. Besides ——” She stopped short. "This must be prevented," he added to himself. ” He chuckled, wincing at the thought. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech.
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