“And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. The poison from the teeth radiated from her shoulder and paralyzed her limbs. Nor, he would wager, had the heroic Monsieur Valade, who had rescued her from that life and brought her to England, taught her in that short time all that Gerald was certain she knew of men. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives.
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