It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. Wood hadn't struck me. ‘Did you see the man?’ Gerald asked. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. 102 When he took her out, he was proud of her. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed. It may here be mentioned that this gate, destined to bequeath its name—a name, which has since acquired a terrible significance,—to every successive structure erected upon its site, was granted, in 1400, by charter by Henry the Sixth to the citizens of London, in return for their royal services, and thenceforth became the common jail to that city and the county of Middlesex.
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