She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. A little love from him would be enough. “The fellow seems to know your name, Miss Pellissier, and that you have lived in Paris. Ann Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul. “Of course,” he ventured, “I could try for more at the ‘Alhambra. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing.
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