It is of necessity that a story such as this should be episodical,
lapsical, disconnected. Its inception lies in two countries, and of
different people. And it is, in its beginnings, a story of
contrasts. So one may be permitted again to say: At a time when
pompous, ponderous, white-whiskered, black-suited old Dr. DeLancey
was engaged in bringing to the daughter of Kathryn Blair a
posthumous baby brother that, in the mystery of things, turned out
after all to be a sister, a stranger chanced to be riding at dusk
through the deep shades of the Bois du Nord, in Brittany.
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