Her face had lost every
vestige of colour:
DEAR ALIX: [it began] You will no doubt throw this letter into the
fire the instant you have finished reading it, and you will hate
me for having written it. Nevertheless, I am doing so because I
think it is my duty. I offer no apology. I only ask you to believe
that my intentions are good. It is best to come straight to the
point. I have talked it all over with Mary and she approves of this
letter. What I am about to say still requires official confirmation.
I do not speak with authority, you must understand. I am merely
giving you certain bits of information I have obtained from men
who were in France in 1915 and 1916. It rests with you to believe
or disbelieve. In any case, if you are wise, you will at least take
the trouble to investigate. I am at your service. If I can help you
in any way, please call upon me. If you desire it, I will provide
you with the names of at least three men who were in Ambulance,
all of whom have answered my letters of inquiry. One of these men
met Courtney Thane in Paris in November, 1915. He was living at the
Hotel Chatham with his mother. She had a husband up at the front,
fighting with the French. This husband was a count or something of
the sort and a good many years her junior. My informant writes me
that young Thane, who drank a great deal and talked quite freely
of family affairs, told him that his mother had married this young
Frenchman a few months before the war broke out and went to Paris
to live with him.
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