Wood," said Jonathan, advancing towards him, and speaking in a low tone, "the secret of your adopted son's birth is known to me. ’ ‘No, miss,’ cut in Kimble. ’ It’s a duplicate of the French one. ” He put his head on one side, pulled down the corners of his mouth, and looked at her over his glasses. “My God!” he said again. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea.
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