We must never let your father know we went. Her elbows were ready. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. Like a petulant child he snapped. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short. ’ The full story—or as much as Gerald knew—of Valade’s machinations shocked the old lady so much that she was obliged to recruit her strength with a refill from the Madeira decanter. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked.
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