She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair.
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