At last his voice came to release her tension. Like the flaws of an old marble. There were so many things about her which he could not understand. His name was Peter. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities.
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