Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. Just as he had told Gerald would be the case, there was nothing of interest to hear, especially as he had met the girl in London only last night. ‘Wait! No time for that. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait.
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